I wake up to the sound of someone whispering my name. Not the gentle kind of whisper that eases you into consciousness, but the urgent, slightly panicked kind that usually means something's on fire or trying to kill me.
"Kamen! Wake up!"
I crack one eye open to find Elara hovering over my bed, her face a mask of barely contained anxiety. The dim light filtering through my window suggests it's either very early morning or very late evening—neither of which are times I want to be conscious right now.
"Unless the sanctuary is actively collapsing," I groan, pulling my pillow over my head, "this can wait until I've had at least four more hours of sleep."
She yanks the pillow away with unnecessary force. "It's Caleif. She's gone."
That gets my attention. I sit up so quickly my vision blurs, the remnants of cosmic exhaustion making my head spin. "What do you mean, gone?"
"I mean she left the sanctuary about an hour ago through one of the doorways. No explanation, no destination details filed with the security protocols." Elara's green eyes are sharp with concern. "She just... left."
A cold knot forms in my stomach. After everything we've been through—cosmic transformations, dragon negotiations, interdimensional politics—Caleif wouldn't just disappear without telling me. Unless...
"Did something happen?" I ask, already reaching for my clothes. "Was there a message, a sign of struggle, anything?"
"Nothing obvious," Elara says, turning her back as I dress. "But Valen found something strange in her quarters. Some kind of... residue. He says it's similar to what we found after your encounter with Seraphina."
The dragon. Of course it had to be the dragon. I knew that memory exchange was too simple, too clean. Nothing in my life is ever that straightforward.
"She took something from me," I mutter, pulling on my boots with clumsy, sleep-deprived fingers. "When she was in my head. Something besides the memory I agreed to share."
"Valen thinks it might be a tracking signature," Elara explains as we hurry through the sanctuary corridors. "A way for her to locate Caleif specifically."
"But why?" I ask, though the paranoid part of my brain is already spinning theories, each worse than the last. "What does a thousand-year-old dragon want with Caleif?"
Elara's silence is answer enough: she doesn't know. None of us do. And that uncertainty feeds the growing dread in my chest.
The sanctuary is eerily quiet at this hour, most of its inhabitants still asleep. Our footsteps echo off the stone walls as we make our way to Caleif's quarters, where Valen is waiting with what I hope are answers rather than more questions.
He looks up as we enter, his burning eyes dimmer than usual—a sign of exhaustion even in his demonic physiology. "Ah, you're awake. Good."
"Tell me what you know," I demand, skipping the pleasantries. Sleep deprivation and worry aren't doing wonders for my social graces.
Valen gestures to a faint shimmer in the air near Caleif's bed—a barely visible distortion that reminds me uncomfortably of heat waves rising from desert sand. "This residue carries a distinct magical signature. Draconic in origin, but modified with something else. Something... older."
I approach the shimmer carefully, extending my enhanced senses toward it. The moment I get close, I feel a jolt of recognition—not just from the dragon's magic, but from something deeper, more familiar. Something that resonates with the echoes of cosmic power still flowing through my veins.
"It's calling to her," I realize, the pieces falling into place. "Using something from my memory as a beacon. But why would Caleif respond to that?"
"Because she was part of you during the transformation," Valen says quietly. "Her essence merged with yours when you became the Nexus Being. Even though you're separate individuals again, there's still a connection—a resonance that Seraphina may have detected when she was in your mind."
The implications hit me like a physical blow. "So she used me to get to Caleif? But what could she possibly want with her?"
Elara, who's been examining the rest of the room with a hunter's precision, holds up a small, folded piece of paper. "Maybe this will tell us."
My hands are almost steady as I take the note from her. The handwriting is unmistakably Caleif's—elegant but hurried, as if written in haste.
*Kamen,*
*Don't follow me. This is something I need to do alone. The dragon showed me something in your memory—something about my past that I've been searching for. I'll be back when I find answers.*
*I'm sorry for leaving like this, but I know you'd try to stop me or insist on coming along. Some journeys have to be walked alone.*
*Please trust me.*
*-C*
I read the note twice, then a third time, as if the words might rearrange themselves into something that makes more sense. "Her past? What about her past could possibly be in my cosmic memory?"
"The barriers between realms weren't always as rigid as they became," Valen says thoughtfully. "During the original separation, many beings were... misplaced. Lost between worlds. It's possible that Caleif's lineage is more complex than even she realized."
I think about Caleif's unusual abilities, her intuitive understanding of cosmic forces, the way she adapted to being part of my transformation with surprising ease. There's always been something different about her, even compared to other demons.
"We need to find her," I say, folding the note and tucking it into my pocket. "Whatever Seraphina showed her, whatever she's looking for—she shouldn't face it alone."
"She specifically asked you not to follow her," Elara points out, though her tone suggests she knows exactly how effective that request is going to be.
"And I specifically don't care," I reply, already heading for the door. "Seraphina manipulated her using something she took from my mind. That makes it my responsibility."
"And how exactly do you plan to find her?" Valen calls after me. "The doorways connect to countless locations across three realms. She could be anywhere."
I pause at the threshold, a plan already forming. It's not a good plan—barely even qualifies as a mediocre plan—but it's all I've got.
"I'm going to ask the dragon," I say simply. "Politely."
Elara's eyebrows shoot up. "You're going back to the monastery? After what just happened?"
"Dragons appreciate directness," I say, echoing Lucifer's words from earlier. "And proper etiquette."
"And what if she refuses to help? Or worse, decides to keep you as part of her collection too?"
I shrug, trying to project more confidence than I feel. "Then I guess you'll be organizing another rescue mission. But I don't think it'll come to that. Seraphina wanted knowledge, not conflict. And right now, I'm offering her the chance to get more of what she wants."
"This is insane," Elara mutters, but she's already checking her weapons—a sure sign she's coming with me despite her objections. "You know that, right?"
"Insanity is part of the job description these days," I reply, heading toward the east wing where the portal to the monastery first formed. "Besides, what's the worst that could happen?"
"Please don't ever ask that question again," she says with a groan. "Every time you do, the universe takes it as a personal challenge."
She's probably right about that. But as we make our way through the silent sanctuary corridors, my mind is fixed on one thing only: finding Caleif before whatever cosmic secret Seraphina revealed to her leads her into danger she can't handle alone.
Because if there's one thing I've learned from my brief stint as a cosmic architect, it's that knowledge always comes with a price. And sometimes, that price is far higher than anyone expects to pay.
The east wing is eerily quiet as we make our way through dimly lit corridors. Every shadow seems to hold secrets, and I can't shake the feeling that we're being watched by something beyond normal perception. My enhanced senses pick up subtle energy fluctuations – remnants of the students' accidental portal, perhaps, or something else entirely.
"You realize this is exactly what Caleif was trying to avoid by leaving alone," Elara points out as we approach the spot where the original tear formed. "She knew you'd insist on playing the hero."
"I'm not playing anything," I mutter, examining the wall where reality had previously been punctured. "She's in danger because of something Seraphina took from my mind. That makes it my responsibility."
Elara sighs. "Not everything is your responsibility, Kamen. Sometimes people make their own choices."
"Yeah, well, sometimes those choices are influenced by ancient dragons with ulterior motives."
The wall looks ordinary now – just stone and mortar, no sign of the dimensional tear that sent four students stumbling into a dragon's lair. But my senses detect the lingering weakness, like scar tissue that never fully healed.
"How exactly are you planning to open this portal again?" Elara asks, arms crossed. "The students created it accidentally through some kind of resonance cascade. Unless you're planning to round up a few more academy kids for an impromptu magic experiment..."
"I don't need resonance cascade," I say, pressing my palm against the wall. "I just need to remember."
I close my eyes and focus on the sensation I felt when I touched the unstable portal before – that electric current of raw possibility, the feeling of reality stretching thin. The gauntlet on my arm pulses with Estingoth's power, warming against my skin.
"Are you sure about this?" Estingoth's voice rumbles in my mind. "Dragons are not known for appreciating uninvited return visits."
"No," I admit silently. "But I'm out of better options."
I push with my mind, feeling for the weak point in reality. It's there – a hairline fracture in the dimensional barrier, invisible to normal senses but unmistakable to my enhanced perception. I pour energy into it, not forcing but persuading, coaxing the fracture to widen just enough...
The air in front of me shimmers, then splits open with a sound like tearing silk. Not the violent, jagged tear the students created, but a clean, controlled opening – a doorway between here and there.
"Impressive," Elara says, eyebrows raised. "Terrifying, but impressive."
Through the portal, I can see the stone corridor of the monastery, lit by those same eerie blue flames. It looks exactly as we left it, except for one significant difference – there's a figure waiting on the other side.
"Well, well," Seraphina says, her human form somehow nearly as intimidating as her dragon one. She appears as a tall, elegant woman with ageless features and eyes that shift between amber and gold. "The architect returns. And so soon."
I step through the portal without hesitation, Elara close behind me. "You knew I would."
"Of course." Seraphina smiles, revealing teeth just a touch too sharp to be human. "The moment your companion followed my call, I knew you would not be far behind."
"Where is she?" I demand, keeping my voice level despite the anger simmering beneath the surface.
"Direct as always." Seraphina gestures for us to follow her deeper into the monastery. "Caleif is pursuing knowledge of her own origin. Knowledge that I merely... pointed her toward."
"What does that mean? What did you show her?"
"A fragment of memory. A glimpse of truth buried within your cosmic experience." Her voice carries a note of fascination. "When you stood at the Threshold, Kamen Driscol, you saw more than just the Original Barrier. You saw the patterns of all existence – past, present, potential futures. Including the true nature of your companion's lineage."
We enter the great chamber with its towering piles of knowledge, but this time there are no terrified students, just the endless collection of books, scrolls, and artifacts that make up Seraphina's hoard.
"So you used my memory to manipulate her," I say, struggling to keep the accusation out of my voice. Antagonizing a dragon in her lair isn't the smartest move, but my patience is wearing thin. "Why? What do you gain from sending her off alone?"
Seraphina settles onto what can only be described as a throne made of ancient tomes, regarding me with those unsettling amber eyes. "I gain nothing but the satisfaction of setting right an old wrong. Your Caleif is more than she appears to be, more than she knows herself to be."
"Meaning what, exactly?"
"Meaning that during the original separation of realms, certain beings were... misplaced. Some deliberately, others by accident." She traces a pattern in the air, and a shimmering image appears – a map of sorts, showing the three realms and the barriers between them. "Your companion's essence contains fragments that do not belong to the demonic realm. Fragments that resonated powerfully with the cosmic forces you channeled during your transformation."
I remember the way Caleif adapted to being part of my transformation, how natural it felt to have her essence merged with mine. At the time, I attributed it to our connection, our bond. But what if there was more to it?
"What is she?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
"That," Seraphina says with a smile that reveals nothing, "is precisely what she has gone to discover. And why I cannot tell you where she is."
"Can't or won't?" Elara interjects, her patience clearly as limited as mine.
"Both," Seraphina replies. "Some journeys must be walked alone, as she said in her note to you. Some truths must be discovered rather than revealed."
I take a step forward, frustration overriding caution. "She could be in danger. Whatever you showed her, wherever you sent her – she's vulnerable without backup."
"Is she?" Seraphina's eyebrow arches elegantly. "Are you certain of that? Or is it possible that you underestimate her because you've grown accustomed to being the protector?"
The question hits harder than I expected, touching a nerve I didn't realize was exposed. Have I been underestimating Caleif? Treating her as someone who needs protection rather than an equal partner?
"I don't underestimate her," I say, though the defensive note in my voice suggests otherwise. "I just know that whatever cosmic secret you've pointed her toward, it's connected to forces that nearly destroyed reality itself. That's not something anyone should face alone."
Seraphina studies me for a long moment, her ancient eyes seeming to peer straight through my defenses. "Perhaps you're right," she concedes finally. "Though not for the reasons you believe."
She rises from her throne, moving with that unnatural grace that reminds me she's merely wearing humanity like a comfortable disguise. From a nearby shelf, she retrieves a small crystal – similar to the one that embedded itself in my palm during the transformation, but darker, shot through with veins of deep crimson.
"This will lead you to her," she says, holding out the crystal. "But understand – by following, you risk interfering with a process that has been millennia in the making. Are you prepared for that responsibility?"
I reach for the crystal without hesitation. "I've been carrying cosmic responsibility since I found Estingoth's gauntlet. What's one more?"
"Such confidence," she murmurs, dropping the crystal into my palm. "Or perhaps arrogance. Time will tell which."
The moment the crystal touches my skin, I feel a jolt of recognition – not from me, but from Estingoth. His presence surges forward in my mind, a mixture of surprise and what feels almost like reverence.
"This is old magic," he says silently. "From before my time. Before the separation."
The crystal pulses with dark light, warm against my palm. I can feel it reaching out, searching for something – or someone. Caleif.
"How does it work?" I ask, watching the crimson veins pulse in rhythm with my heartbeat.
"It resonates with the fragment of cosmic essence I showed to Caleif," Seraphina explains. "Follow where it leads, and you will find her. But remember – she chose to make this journey alone for a reason. Your presence may complicate matters."
"I'll take that chance," I say, closing my fingers around the crystal. Its warmth intensifies, becoming almost uncomfortable.
Seraphina nods, as if my answer confirms something she already suspected. "Then go. But be warned – the path she walks crosses boundaries older than the separation itself. Places where the rules you understand may not apply."
"You're not exactly filling me with confidence here," I mutter.
"Good." Her smile is all teeth. "Confidence would be misplaced. What you need is caution, and perhaps a touch of fear. They will serve you better where you're going."
"And where exactly is that?" Elara asks, her hand resting not-so-subtly on her weapon.
"The Borderlands," Seraphina says, the words carrying weight beyond their simple meaning. "The spaces between realms where the first separation began. Where things that belonged nowhere were... contained."
A chill runs down my spine. "Contained things. Like what?"
"Like fragments of power too dangerous to exist in any single realm. Like beings who resisted the division of reality." Her eyes fix on mine, deadly serious. "Like the truth of what your Caleif really is."
"Which is what?" I demand, tired of riddles and half-truths.
Seraphina's expression becomes unreadable. "That is for her to discover, and then to share with you if she chooses. My role was merely to point the way."
The crystal pulses more urgently now, tugging at my awareness like a compass needle straining toward north. Whatever it's locked onto, it's getting impatient.
"Fine," I say, frustrated but aware we're not getting more information from the dragon. "How do we follow this thing? Do we need another portal?"
"The crystal itself will create the path," Seraphina says, stepping back. "Simply will it to show you the way, and it will respond."
I look at Elara, who gives me a small nod – ready to follow wherever this leads. Taking a deep breath, I focus on the crystal, picturing Caleif, willing the connection between us to strengthen.
The response is immediate and intense. The crystal flares with crimson light, casting our shadows in sharp relief against the ancient stone walls. The air in front of us splits open – not with the mechanical precision of the doorways I created, but with a wild, organic energy that reminds me of lightning forking across storm clouds.
Through this new opening, I see a landscape that can't possibly exist in any normal reality – a vast plain where the ground itself seems to shift between solid matter and pure energy, where distant mountains float untethered to any horizon, where the sky cycles through colors no human language has names for.
The Borderlands.
"Well," Elara says dryly, though I can hear the tension beneath her casual tone, "at least it's not another dragon's lair."
"No," Seraphina agrees, her voice fading as if she's already retreating. "It's something far older, and far more dangerous. Good luck, architect. You may need it more than you know."